Submerged

Chapter 4

My feet rapidly eat the distance between us, anger igniting at the sight of him so close to her.

The man's back is to me as I approach and he steps closer to her, getting in her face. "Stop screaming? Do you know how much this shirt cost, you stupid bitch?"

The weight of my gun sits heavy in its holster, my fingers twitching with the urge to grab it and press the barrel against this asshole's head for speaking to Alessia like that.

I snatch him by his collar and he stumbles back, whirling around with his mouth open ready to direct his anger at me. I fucking wish he would, a single punch to his face would easily put him on the ground given our size difference. His eyes widen, mouth falling further open in surprise as he takes me in, craning his neck to meet my gaze.

I wrap my fingers around his throat, lifting him until we're eye to eye. "Don't fucking speak to my wife like that." The demand comes out in a low, threatening tone and I hope he sees every unsaid word in my eyes.

How I want to sink my fingers in his chest and rip his heart out. How I'd love nothing more than to end him for his tone alone.

"I-I-I'm sorry." He gasps through my hold, fingers digging into my wrist as he tries to pry my hand from his throat.

He'd have better luck winning the lottery than removing even a single finger of mine from him.

I release him abruptly and he stumbles on his feet. "Don't apologize to me, apologize to her." I snap, gripping him by the collar and shoving him toward her.

"I'm sorry!" He squeaks quickly and I let him go.

I remove my wallet from my pocket and pull out a few one-hundred dollar bills and toss them at him. "There, buy six more shirts just like it and maybe next time try talking instead of screaming."

He snatches the bills up and scurries away like the cockroach he is.

My focus goes to Alessia and I quickly look her over, taking in her saturated dress and the anger burning in her glassy amber eyes. "Are you okay?" I ask, the question coming out more as a demand, my voice still thick with anger though she doesn't cower.

"You called me your wife." Her words slur slightly making me question exactly what she was doing in that boutique before she ran.

Did she smuggle alcohol in there?

I run my hand down my beard, willing my heart to slow and the anger thrumming through my veins to subside. I think that's the first time I've ever wanted to pull my gun on someone in public.

I take a deep inhale, the smell of coffee, her, and exhaust fumes filling my nose. "You're going to be."

She studies me for a second as if dissecting me like a science experiment before glancing away. "I'm fine. How did you know where I was, are you stalking me or something?"

"I was driving by and heard screaming. When I saw it was you I pulled over." I explain simply.

I don't deny the stalking accusation because I can't and I don't want to lie to her.

She sighs, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear as she looks down at her soaked dress. "Well thanks for taking care of that guy for me." Her eyes meet mine and for the first time ever she looks sheepish. "I'm supposed to be wedding dress shopping but everything is so overwhelming. Mamma is so pushy on what my dress should look like and making the family look good. I kind of ditched everyone and ran."
Just another way her family is making this harder. Why does it matter what her wedding dress looks like as long as she's happy and feels good in it?